


worst-laid plans

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bad Ideas, Banter, Chance Meetings, Extra Treat, Flirting, Ill-Conceived Crushes, M/M, Poe Dameron's Life Is A Joke, Pre-Slash, Sarcasm, Threats of Violence, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “—and for the record? This guy really sucks,” Poe says, feeling very much as though he’s ended on a strong note. With a decisive rap of his knuckles against the holotable standing between himself and his superior officers, he adds, “A lot.”Admiral Statura and General Organa exchange a look, the former tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. It must prove understandable to the general at least, because she sighs and shakes her head, sharp, in return. “You really want that on the record, Dameron?” Statura asks.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celeste9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/gifts).



“—and for the record? This guy really sucks,” Poe says, feeling very much as though he’s ended on a strong note. With a decisive rap of his knuckles against the holotable standing between himself and his superior officers, he adds, “A _lot_.”

Admiral Statura and General Organa exchange a look, the former tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. It must prove understandable to the general at least, because she sighs and shakes her head, sharp, in return. “You really want that on the record, Dameron?” Statura asks.

Poe doesn’t let himself bristle at the hint of dry suspicion in Statura’s tone despite knowing that he’s probably being mocked somewhere beneath the admiral’s perfectly presentable exterior. Don’t let Statura’s humorless exterior fool you, others have said, he could roast you alive if he wanted to. The way some people tell it, he used to do stand-up for the troops back when he was a private. Some people, Poe had assumed, are full of poodoo.

It might be they’re not.

Either way, Poe hasn’t had that distinct pleasure to be on the receiving end of just such a reaming yet, but it’s looking like those halcyon days may be numbered if he doesn’t play his cards right. “Uh,” he replies, “Can I clean up the language first, sir?”

Statura cracks a smile, a blink and you’d miss it expression of amusement that Poe wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself, and snorts, derisive. That it’s at Poe’s expense is fine. Frankly, this whole situation has gotten ridiculous and Poe can’t blame him a bit for his reaction. At least someone is amused; Poe’s certainly not. Poe is tired of bringing back tales of his latest close-call with Agent kriffing Terex of the First kriffing Order’s Security kriffing Bureau. Poe would very much like to lock Terex in a cell and let him talk himself to death and never, ever think about the man again.

 _Kriff_.

“Intelligence has gotten word there’s a man of Terex’s description sniffing around Yavin Four asking about Poe Dameron,” the general says. “Looks to me like you’ve got yourself a fan club.”

Now Poe _does_ bristle, frustration twitching in his cheek as he fights the urge to let loose a string of invectives even his mother might’ve blushed at. This is the last thing Poe could ever hope to want. And yet here he is. Joy. “Is it my birthday?” he asks, deadpan.

“The man’s clearly obsessed,” Statura points out, unhelpful, because: obviously. “He’s not helping his cause any if he’s caught in Republic territory. After—”

Poe’s hand rubs at his shoulder, an uneasiness settling in his gut. Every Republic citizen is looking over their shoulder searching for First Order shadows. If one of their operatives _was_ found… on Yavin Four no less…?

The Populists are already agitating for war despite having lost so much of their military presence in the attack that destroyed the Hosnian system. And while the Senate drags its feet, the Resistance has seen such an influx of interest that there’s not enough time, room, or personnel to train the new recruits pouring in.

It wouldn’t end well is Poe’s conclusion—and, it seems, Statura’s and the general’s. The Resistance isn’t ready for active combat, not yet. Stars, they still haven’t even fully replaced the fleet of X-wings lost during the run on Starkiller base. Which means…

“New mission?” Poe asks. His finger wags between the pair of them as though to drive home the point. “You do realize this is a trap, right?”

“New mission.” Statura confirms it with a grim, precise nod. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No, no. I, uh, it’s refreshing to know going into it that I’m gonna see his smug, ugly face.” 

“It would be a boon if you could convince him to come over to us. No doubt he knows a lot more about the First Order than we do and if anyone could turn him, it’s you,” the general adds, just as grim as Statura. “But do what you have to do. I don’t like having rogue operatives threatening the commander of my air forces every time he takes a step outside my base.”

 _Do what you have to do_ , he thinks, gut churning at the implication. As much as he dislikes Terex, he’s never been the guy for this kind of work. _That’s the point we’ve reached here_.

“Understood,” Poe says, hating that he can bring himself to sound so sure, so at ease. _Terex wants to kill you, too,_ he reminds himself. _He wouldn’t have any qualms about an order like this_.

Somehow that doesn’t make him feel any better about the whole thing. Funny how that works.

The general rounds the table, grips Poe by the arm, a look on her face that almost passes as apologetic. If she weren’t so ruthlessly pragmatic, she might have been sorry about assigning him. As it is, she at least shows some empathy for having to assign him at all, a slight distinction, but a distinction nonetheless. Poe takes as much comfort from that as he can. “For good or ill, you’re his weakness. You can use that against him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, spine going rigid, the kneejerk urge to salute nearly overbearing.

“Good.” She claps him on the shoulder then. “Looks like you’ve been approved for shore leave, Commander. Congratulations.” Her head jerks toward the door, a casual dismissal for what she must be pretending has been a casual meeting. “Say hello to your father for me if you see him.”

From the doorway, he says, “I will. Thank you.”

There’s not a single chance in hell he’ll go anywhere near the homestead if Terex is poking his nose around Yavin Four, but he appreciates the thought. And he’s sure his dad would, too, just as soon as he got done monologuing at Poe about impertinent children thinking they know what’s best for them. __

Maybe after this is over he can take a real vacation. It’s been too long since he’s been home. Longer than he’d ever thought possible. Longer than he’d ever wanted.

He kinda misses the old man.

*

He spends the whole trip to Yavin Four trying to figure out how he’s gonna talk his way into getting Terex on his side. He blames it on hyperspace travel—it’s not much fun when you know your lane’s clear, no risk of an old Empire Interdictor pulling you out of it and right smack in the middle of a dogfight.

By hour seven, he’s stuck on General Organa’s assertion that Terex is his ‘fan club.’ She’s _wrong_ , of course, but he briefly, desperately, considers offering Terex a date in exchange for his loyalties.

“Hey, Beebs?” he says, flipping the switch on his internal comms.

BB-8 trills curiously over the speakers.

“Play some music, huh?”

BB-8’s trills take on a chirping, excited quality. He bleats for a moment and then there’s music being piped into Poe’s speakers.

“No, hey! We listened to this last time.” _And the time before that. And before that._ “Try something else.”

Dejected, BB-8 whistles, more mournful than Poe’s ever heard.

“Oh, hell.” He throws up his hands, well aware that BB-8 can’t actually see his fit of pique in action. “Fine. _Fine_. Once, okay? You can listen to it once.”

_Wheeeeeeooooh!_

They end up listening to it the whole rest of the trip. Because of course they do. Poe would do just about anything for BB-8. Even this.

And if he’d rather throttle the little droid who keeps chattering along with a beat that Poe’s come to know even better than his own pulse, well, that’s still better than the alternative. He could still be thinking about Terex.

But damn does he hate this song.

*

Back when he was a kid, the only colony on the planet had been the one they’d settled in. It was, and still is, the most established place on the planet. Draws the most tourists—nothing like being right next door to the old Massassi Temple—occasionally makes the HoloNet news for some public interest story or other, doesn’t have to rely as much on trade. There are even a few system-wide businesses that’ve been founded there. Respectable ones. Still, though it’s a reasonable size now, it’s not so big that Poe Dameron coming home wouldn’t immediately draw too much attention to him.

Which would be a good thing as far as getting Terex’s attention goes, but not so good for keeping himself and Terex off of his father’s scanners.

Flicking a switch on his console array, he taps his comms. _Here goes_ , he thinks. Might as well make a splash. “Yavin Docking Authority, this is Pau Terex requesting clearance for landing.”

“ _There some kind of family reunion going on here that I don’t know about?”_ a gruff, no-nonsense voice says. It’s not one Poe recognizes, but that hardly matters. It’s still nearly impossible to suppress his grin. He’s home all right. Even if this guy doesn’t know it. “ _Not a common name around these parts._ ”

“Unless he set down in Oletha, no, sir,” Poe answers, thumbing another switch, wishing desperately he could ask for details. At least now he knows Terex is here under his own name. That ought to make things easier. “Transmitting ID now.”

The man grumbles. _Guess he’s not in Oletha_.

 _But he will be._ Poe would bet on that.

“ _Welcome to Yavin Four,”_ the guy answers by rote. “ _You’re cleared for Oletha._ ” After a long, begrudging delay, he adds: “ _Enjoy your stay_.”

Yep. Definitely home.

*

Oletha’s not got much—to be honest, Poe’s never much liked the place, too small and out of the way to be worth visiting except as a stopover during a long jaunt on a swoop bike he shouldn’t have had to begin with—but it does have a cantina and people who wouldn’t recognize Poe on sight. And a cantina where Poe’s not recognized is as good a place as any to spend his time.

He scopes the place out as he steps inside. Friendly enough, the bartender waves him over, a smile on her face. When he nods at one of the customers, probably a regular from the way they’re holding court in their chosen booth, they nod back, peering at him curiously, but not enough to hassle him.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks once he’s reached the bar.

“You got any _Klieth’s_?” he asks, sliding onto a stool.

“You from Yavin, huh?” she says, grabbing a tall glass chilled over with frost.

“No,” he says, the lie smooth enough on his tongue, “just a connoisseur with a good memory.” Let her believe what she wants about him otherwise—think he’s a businessman or an adventurer or both or neither. Normally he wouldn’t take the chance, but he hasn’t had _Kleith’s_ drafted straight from the tap in going on five years. He’s willing to risk it. Especially since he needs some kind of reward for doing this.

She doesn’t ask him any follow up questions, merely tilts the glass as she places it under the spout, her other hand wrapping around the lever above it. Good bartender, gets just the right ratio of foam to liquid.

“Thank you,” he says, taking hold of the glass when she slides it toward him. It’s as cold against his palm as he remembers, familiar, and as he lifts it to his mouth, he begins to think, _hey, maybe this won’t be so bad_.

Poe checks his chronometer. He has no reason to expect Terex will catch up to him this quickly, but something tells him Terex isn’t too far behind. It’d be nice if they could get this over with. Just knowing Terex is out there sends a chill down his spine, makes him feel grimy in a way he’s not sure he likes.

 _At least you know he’s coming,_ he thinks. _If he’s going to knife you in the back at least you’re prepared for it. At least you’re ready._

He waits. Waits and waits and waits, his glass warming from the heat of his palms.

Terex is a no show.

Poe’s strangely disappointed by this fact.

At least the beer here is good, he supposes. Not that he lets himself have more than one.

*

As Poe approaches his motel room, he stills, senses alert. He’s grown accustomed to trusting his instincts and does so now. His hands jam themselves into his pockets, skimming lightly over the blaster strapped to his side, a welcome reminder that he’s not out here totally alone. Peering down the hall, acting as casually as he can under the circumstances, he steps up to the door.

He doesn’t go so far as to press his ear against the door, but he does strain to hear for a sign of an intruder. For all the good it does him. The hallway is silent. And there’s no sound from behind the door.

Freeing his blaster from its holster, he reached for the panel. “You’re going to feel really ridiculous here in a minute, Dameron,” he says, whispering to himself. Presses himself against the wall, he activates the panel. The door slides open, loud.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

Poe rolls his eyes. “Hey, Terex,” he says, still backed against the wall, not yet willing to risk poking his head in to get a visual. “You stood me up. Hurts a guy’s feelings, you know?”

The leather of a chair creaks—so at least Poe knows where he is—then steps. Steps toward the door. Poe counts them, makes a last minute decision to twist around, blaster drawn. It’s a gamble, but fights are always gambles. War is always a gamble.

His first glimpse of Terex is of his hands going up, then the smug, slow, spread of a smile across his face. The glint in his eyes. The slight shift of his stance as he backs into the room, Poe approaching him.

“Pau Terex,” Terex answers. “Not the cleverest move you’ve ever made.”

“Just returning the favor. Coming to Yavin Four? Not the cleverest move _you’ve_ ever made.” Poe gestures toward the chair Terex had been sitting in. “You wanna take a seat?”

“Not particularly.” The bastard takes a step forward, determined, apparently, to press Poe’s buttons.

Poe waggles the blaster at him. “You want to reconsider?”

Terex rolls his eyes, but backs up and, with exaggerated care, does as Poe asks. Makes for a nice change of pace to be honest. “I’ll have to write all about this when I get back to base,” he says, to explain the goofy smile that’s currently stretching across his mouth. “‘Dear Diary, Today, Agent Terex actually listened to a word I said. It was kriffing great. I hope he does it again in the future. All it takes is some time alone in a room, just me, him, and a blaster. It’s quite romantic if you think about it. Might have to try it again sometime. Love, Poe.’”

Terex stares up at him, lips pursed, and tuts, but there’s something fragile in his eyes and something bitterly brittle, angry and churning just beneath the surface. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

 _Holy shit_.

He almost, _almost_ laughs. Right in Terex’s face. Because this? This is Force-damned gold right here. Just—impossible. _How is this my life_ , he thinks, nearly losing it again. _No, no. Think this through_. He sobers immediately, dropping all hints of amusement before Terex can decide he’d be better off getting into a fight with Poe than sitting there being mocked by him.

 _I can’t believe General Organa was right_.

The thing is—Poe’s not clueless. He acts like it sometimes, because it’s easier and his face is on posters used to sell dissatisfied Republic citizens on the benefits of joining the Resistance and there’s no way of knowing who likes him for him and who’s got a crush on a him because he’s a commander and anyway there’s that whole chain-of-command thing that gets in the way whenever he thinks about developing a feeling for another person on base. Makes visions of red tape dance in front of his eyes.

So, he knows better than most people might think when someone’s interested in him. And Poe’s pretty sure that’s what’s going on here. And, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s hurt Terex’s feelings.

If Terex has feelings. It could be he’s just faking it.

“Oh, trust me,” Poe says. “I’ll decide if I’m going to be flattered. I’m _not_ , because this is you we’re talking about, but I could be.” Which admittedly means little. Terex is still a dangerous man. Poe owes it to himself to not get too arrogant here. He stalks forward, taking a seat in the chair across from Terex, deliberately kicks at Terex’s shin as he crosses his legs, letting the butt of his blaster balance on his knee. “If I wanted to be.”

Terex snorts, looks away, offers Poe a glimpse of his not unimpressive profile. The guy certainly has a unique appearance, strong. Poe could see it happening if he let himself.

“The First Order wouldn’t have approved this little jaunt into Republic territory,” Poe continued, pushing forward so he doesn’t have to think about Terex’s _profile_ , telling Terex what he already knows. “They certainly wouldn’t have wanted you to come _here_. Not for me.”

“Are you certain about that? You helped make a fool out of our illustrious leaders. You and that daring stormtrooper—”

“Don’t talk about him.” The snappish way he speaks turns Terex’s attention back his way, earns him an appraising look. So much for that moment of poor taste when he thought maybe. Poe definitely remembers why he hates this guy’s guts instead.

“You don’t think that’s worth something? Their egos could fuel the _Finalizer’s_ hyperdrives if they worked a little harder at not wasting all of their energy scurrying after one another just to trip each other in the halls. Metaphorically speaking anyway. I haven’t actually seen either of them stoop so low. And assuming Ren doesn’t trip himself on those ridiculous—”

“This is all very interesting—” It isn’t, not exactly, though Poe already knows he’ll be making a report about it all the same and oh, how he’s looking forward to that…

“What I’m saying is it’s entirely possible that you’ve pissed off the wrong people, my dear friend.”

“Buddy, you say that like it’s not a regular occurrence in my life. And yet I’ve never been stalked to my home planet before. You’re going to have to do better than that to prove to me that you’re not here for yourself.”

“I like to think I’m uniquely thorough.”

“You’re thorough all right,” Poe says under his breath. Louder, he adds, “That’s too bad, Terex, because I’ve been authorized to make your life a little bit easier.” He doesn’t mention that he’s also been authorized to make Terex’s life a whole lot harder, too, but mostly because he doesn’t want Terex to call his bluff.

“Oh, please do enlighten me.”

“Despite your insistence to the contrary, I’m reasonably sure you’re on the outs with the First Order. When they find out that you’ve gone off their tiny, uncreative rails—and they _will_ find out—they’re gonna string you up.” Poe shrugs. “Or your initiative can be rewarded.”

“And why would I want that?” Terex asks, disdainful, finding his nails more fascinating than Poe. Or pretending anyway.

“Because you’re a spiteful man. And I think you’re angry that the First Order wants to put you in their little box. We could use spiteful.” Poe smirks. “We could use angry. And you _like_ me.”

Terex narrows his eyes, rage flashing in them, his mouth forming a deep, deep frown. His fingers twitch toward his waist, where Poe presumes he’s carrying his weapon.

“I don’t date First Order,” Poe sing-songs, because he’s an asshole and he likes pushing Terex’s buttons and Terex reacts so wonderfully to it, his face turning red as a _peela_ fruit. “You go freelance, well, you never know what might happen. Could be interesting.”

“You have a high opinion of yourself.”

“Sorry, old habits.” Poe leans forward, presses his elbows into his thighs. Winks, because again: asshole. “I could try dialing it back for you.”

If looks could kill… Poe would be dead by now. And he’s not sure it wouldn’t have been worth it.

The thing is—this shouldn’t be as much fun as it is, but oh. Prodding at Terex after so long of having the guy hounding his steps feels _good_. It’s more fun than thinking about having to drop him here tonight if he can’t get him to give up his organization.

“Why didn’t you just wait until the next time I’m out on a mission to do this?” Poe asks, casual. “Why not keep up with what you’ve been doing?”

Terex tsks at him, disappointed, like Poe’s missing the point, but Terex is too good to explain it to him. That’s okay with Poe though; the truth is he’s not all that interested in Terex’s excuses. He just wants Terex to play ball.

“You think we haven’t done some questionable things in the Resistance to achieve our ends?” Poe asks. He feels a little grimy saying that, acting so blasé about it. But he’s not wrong. They have been forced to associate with some shady characters in their time. Hell, back in the day, the Rebellion was built by good people associating with malcontents and devious, self-interested individuals whose selfish impulses aligned for a time with the Rebellion’s.

The Resistance has continued that tradition.

The worst part is: it works. Really, really well. Sometimes you even end up with Generals Solo and Calrissian for the trouble. Never would’ve happened if the Rebellion had had higher standards for assistance.

So, Poe’s willing. He just has to convince Terex he feels the same. “Come on, the First Order can’t win. And if they do, there’s not a place for you in their regime. I’m afraid to say it, but I think they’re using you.”

“ _You_ want to use me.”

 _You’re not wrong, pal_. “But I’ll be nice about it.” Poe smiles, the brilliant grin he’s been told is a heart-stopper by some of his more dramatic acquaintances. “I won’t pretend that you’re too stupid to realize what I’m doing like I bet Phasma does. And I won’t hunt you down when you decide you want to go your own way. That’s gotta be worth something to you, right?”

That earns a snicker out of Terex and a huff of recognition. So Poe’s right. That’s good to know. Poe hates being wrong.

“Or you can stick with us and you’ll have a shield against whatever they’ve thrown at you.”

“I think I can handle myself.” He tugs at his cuff of the black knit cuff of his jacket, the smooth leather of the rest of it shifting under the light. “In fact, I prefer it that way.”

“Anyone ever tell you that there’s safety in numbers?”

Terex scoffs. “Have you considered for even a moment that I might _agree_ with them?” He raises his hands, curling his fingers as he makes his next remark. “That I might find your ‘Resistance’ at least as pathetic—if not more pathetic—than the leadership you seem to think I clash with?”

“No.”

“Well, you’d be right,” Terex concedes, stroking his chin. “They’re children, the lot of them. That does _not_ mean I want to take up with you.”

Poe bites back a frustrated groan. Terex truly has to be the most infuriating man Poe has ever met. _Why are you here then,_ he wants to yell. _What are you even doing? You haven’t even tried to pull your weapon._

“So, then,” Poe says, “where does this leave us? You just stop in to check on me or what?”

A grin spreads slowly over Terex’s face as he slowly, slowly pushes himself to his feet. “Maybe,” he says, walking toward Poe again. This time, Poe doesn’t threaten him with the blaster. This time, Poe lets him get close enough to hear Terex breathe and smell his utterly uninteresting cologne, a mixture of clean, forest-green _ples_ and spicy _wertree_ , a scent that can be found on every planet in every corner of the galaxy. Tilting his head up, Poe stares at him in challenge, lungs tight with anticipation.

If Poe didn’t know any better, he’d think Terex is about to kiss him. And Poe’s pretty sure he’d let him, a twinge of regret forming in his chest when Terex doesn’t, when he steps back, staring intensely at him for a moment before turning away. Madness. This is madness.

 _Damn you, Terex_ , Poe thinks, more than a little pissed—at him and at himself for letting Terex get to him.

“Work on your pitch,” Terex says, offhand, his boots stamping against the carpet as he heads toward the door. “Oh, and keep an eye on your newer recruits. A little birdie has informed me that the Security Bureau is thinking of sending people over to your side. You might find yourself with a bit of an infestation if you’re not careful.”

“Go to hell!” Poe said, projecting an obnoxious pleasantness that he hopes gets under Terex’s skin. It’s the least of what he deserves considering the shit General Organa is going to give him for letting Terex go. Frankly, Poe’s not even sure why he’s doing it, nor even why Terex seems to expect it he’s safe as he shows his back to Poe as he leaves.

Poe’s head thunks back against the chair, mind a whirl, an ache forming in his gut.

He gets the feeling he’s just made his life a whole lot more awkward. And he’s not sure he’d have it any other way.

_Next time, Terex._

_Next time._


End file.
